


Something So Pure

by fragilelittleteacup



Category: True Detective
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Body Horror (Gore), Fluff, M/M, Romance, Suicide (mentioned), Temporary Character Death, it's not as scary as the tags make it look i promise, rated Explicit for the heavy themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 19:48:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9253451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fragilelittleteacup/pseuds/fragilelittleteacup
Summary: In Carcosa, Rust met Death.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by: http://jackiehj.tumblr.com/post/132032699283/next-page-first-page-of-a-5-page-comic-for-the

Death, possessed of a kind of consciousness or at least an omnipresent awareness, was used to fear. Most human beings unwillingly went to their deaths, shrieking and clawing and twisting into chasms that opened unto them like grins; these humans were black, at the end, blacker than the depths of space or the deepest oceans. Others went with a wide-eyed curiosity, and were embraced by something warmer, something that resembled the unflappable love of a mother– they were bright blue, those people, with the easeful caution of a summer sky before a storm.  Some went with relief, into worlds that were soft and sweet as cotton candy, emerging from a heaviness that had suffocated them their entire lives.  They were pink. Glowing. Rejoicing. Death mourned those humans more than others, because it was Death’s opinion that humans ought to enjoy their lives. Humans ought not embrace Death.

Rustin Cohle was deep blue when he came to Death.

He was the blue of the night sky, in that evening moment before the war between the stars and blackness begins. He was the blue of bruises, wreaked upon his body, forced upon him and accepted with a tired surrender. He was the blue of Hyacinth flowers, the bitterly picturesque blue of a God who had been killed by love. Oh, humans and their poetry. What beauty they had found, in such fleeting lives.

Death found Rust beside a lake, which seemed appropriate, given his nature. It was Iliamna Lake, Alaska, in the middle of the day. Rust was gazing out over the smooth surface of undisturbed water, a cigarette in his hand. He looked over as Death approached, with eyes that were lacking in the fear Death was ever so used to.

He laughed.

It was a shock to Death, having someone laugh. Death, the bringer of the great end, had not experienced that many times before.

“So you actually are a skeleton in a robe,” Rust looked back out over the water, as if the sight of the grim reaper was not interesting enough to hold his attention, “Thought you might look different.”

Death offered him a lipless smile. “What did you think I’d look like?”

Rust lifted the cigarette to his mouth, and breathed the smoke in. Death watched him, and thought about how human beings were destructive, right until the end.

“I thought you’d look like my daughter,” Rust said quietly.

Death was not saddened by that proclamation. Death was, after all, eternal. There was no sorrow that had not come before.

And Rust seemed to know that. He seemed to realise there was no bargain to be made, no plea he could voice which would change the fact he was dying. There was a quiet, patient drawl to his voice. He was taking his time. He was not afraid.

“Seeing your daughter again is something you would have to commit to,” Death replied.

“So I can see her again?”

“If you die, yes.”

Rust nodded. His hand fell from his face, and the cigarette with it. They stood there, in silence. Death was very used to this. Death, while acknowledging the importance of it, did not personally notice the passing of time– ironic, given it was central to the passing of all creatures, and the very reason for Death’s existence.

The human drew a slow breath.

“You took your time,” Rust said, finally. “I thought you’d come quicker.”

The scene before them changed. This happened occasionally; sometimes, people were so emotionally distraught that their final moments were spent flickering from place to place, their life dribbling from them in a violent mix of colours and noises. Those were the people who had the blackness within them.

This change was more peaceful. An ocean, now, somewhere else in Alaska. A turbulent sky churning in the distance, a small boat that was being sailed by unseen figures. A picture of comfortable isolation.

“I’m not here to take you with me.” Death replied. “Though, ultimately, it is your choice.”

A gentle wind moved Rust’s hair. “Why would you give me a choice?”

“Because a choice simply exists for you. For others, it does not.”

Rust looked at Death, into the absence of eyes, into the flatness of smooth bone.

“Did you give my daughter a choice?”

“I am at the beck and call of the universe; I do not create the universe. I do not create the choices, or the consequences. I am merely a result.”

Rust looked back out over the sea. He lifted the cigarette to his mouth again.

“…That’d be a no, then.”

“I am not here to talk about your daughter.”

“Is _that_ why you’re here, then? To fuckin’ _talk_?”

“I am here because you need to make a choice. I am servant to what you decide.”

The anger faded from Rust’s face, and was replaced by thoughtfulness.

“Power over death,” he mused, “who’d have thought it.”

 

***

 

Death stayed with Rustin Cohle while he decided.

His soul was tired, but bright. He was still blue, but– as time passed, in the odd way that it did in these moments– he became a different kind of blue. A lighter blue, like a jewel or the colour of light as it moves through coloured glass. In Rust's memory were irises of brilliant colour, surrounded by a ring of darker blue, set in the face of a man; a man Death did not yet know, but Rust did. The colour of his eyes filled Rust’s soul, wholly and completely, and Death knew what Rust’s choice would be before it was even decided.

Love like that rarely allowed a person to let go, if they had an option.

“Why would I decide to live? Why shouldn’t I give in?” Rust asked.

“You already know why,” Death replied.

Rust swallowed. He was beginning to cry, but his decision was made.

 

***

 

Rust felt hands cradling his head. One hand cupping the back of his skull, the other against his jaw. Holding, tenderly and gently, in a way Marty had never held him before.

He opened his eyes, and looked up at Marty’s face.

“Hey,” Marty was saying, slurred and delirious with blood loss, “hey, hey, you’re gonna be fine. You’re gonna be fine.”

Blood was covering Rust, sticky under his clothes, and he felt warm. His dizzy mind imagined guts protruding from his skin, the slick meat of organs exposed to the air by the jagged blade of a knife. But none of this mattered to Rust, or concerned him in that moment. He focussed, as much as he was able, on Marty, and felt as if he were realising something very important. What that was, he couldn't say.

“Just stay awake. Just stay awake, and you’ll be okay.”

Rust felt as if he’d gone somewhere, and come back. He remembered nothing, but he gazed into Marty’s blue eyes, and felt the world disappearing, vanishing into irrelevance.

Nothing mattered but Marty.

 

***

 

Meeting Death left a mark.

Slipping away like that, into the space between worlds, and then returning– it wasn’t meant for humans. Often, they became fanatics. They talked of God and of religion, trying to understand the overpowering nature of an experience they would never be able to describe. Alternatively, they fled from life, unable to handle the weight that their very presence on earth brought. Death would meet them again, after they had embraced the jerk of a noose or the explosion from a gun.

Death often wondered why choice existed for those people. But then, Death had stopped questioning a lot of things.

It was no surprise to Death, when Rustin Cohle sobbed outside Lafayette General Hospital, wondering why he was alive, why he had returned from the darkness. He had felt his daughter’s presence, had known she was there. Had touched her soul, briefly, in the moment that he had slipped away. And Death had been sure, watching Rust weep, that he would be ending his own life soon.

But the man was there.

The man with the blue eyes, the man who had filled Rust’s soul so entirely. His hand on Rust’s shoulder, kneeling beside a rickety wheelchair.

Death stayed, as the two humans spoke of time and of stars. Between them existed a love more pure than most; Death fancied that their devotion was the colour of white petals upon a soft breeze, floating upon the winds of familiarity and trust. Better this love, this gentle desire to protect one another, than the roaring passions of youth. This, Death thought, was humanity at its most pure.

“Once, there was only dark,” Rust murmured, mouth close to his friend’s ear, “if you ask me, the light’s winnin’.”

Death watched them leave.

The wisdom of humanity never ceased to amaze.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> whew, that was the most experimental thing I've written in a while!! and on only 2 hours sleep as well!!!!!! why am i like this!!!!!!  
> aNYWAY, hope you enjoyed!!!


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